


The Art of Living Together

by sying



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2019-03-12 16:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13551393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sying/pseuds/sying
Summary: It's the fourth day since they've moved in together (the official Living Together where they got a new place they both chose, one lease with two names on it and some new furniture they decided on together, not the living together where Brad says Ray moved in with him the moment he touched Ray's dick two years ago). Ray comes home from a frustrating day at work to find Brad in the living room in the middle of empty boxes and stacks and stacks of books. Most of themRay'sbooks.





	The Art of Living Together

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: this is a non-profit work of fiction based on the HBO miniseries and its characters as portrayed by the actors.

It's the fourth day since they've moved in together (the official Living Together where they got a new place they both chose, one lease with two names on it and some new furniture they decided on together, not the living together where Brad says Ray moved in with him the moment he touched Ray's dick two years ago). Ray comes home from a frustrating day at work to find Brad in the living room in the middle of empty boxes and stacks and stacks of books. Most of them _Ray's_ books.

"What are you doing?"

Brad puts the books he's holding on one of the shelves that isn't filled yet. "Hello Ray. How was your day? Mine was good, thanks."

"No, really Brad. What are you doing?" he asks before Brad can start insulting his lack of manners, his upbringing and his mom (although his insults regarding Ray's ancestry have grown infrequent and certainly lack heat and inspiration ever since the day Brad met Ray's mom). Ray makes his way over to be 100% sure that he's seeing this right.

"Did you fall on your head today, dumb-ass?" Brad puts his hands on Ray’s head for a moment as if to search for a bump. "What does it look like I'm doing? Unpacking our books and putting them on the shelves. I'm nearly done."

"Didn't I say I was going to do it tomorrow when I've got the day off?"

"You did, but I figured that if I did it now, we'd finally have time to do something fun tomorrow." How Brad manages to look annoyed and like a disappointed puppy at the same time Ray will never know and he'd be a sucker for it if this was about anything else but his books. His boxes upon boxes full of books that he'd carefully packed in a certain order. Because he has a system for them. A system that Brad has, judging from a quick look at the stacks around them on the ground, the coffee-table and the ones already on the shelves, completely fucked up with his good intentions and OCD.

"I just wanted to do this myself. I have a system."

Brad looks at him like he's just said something that's at Encino Man levels of intelligence or something. "Ray, some of these are my books too and I saw the bookcases at your place. That was not a system. That was a fucking mess."

Ray looks at the shelves and shakes his head. The books have fallen victim to Brad's innate and Marine ingrained neatness and are all lined up according to size and now Sun Tzu's The Art of War is sitting next to The Barbecue! Bible. Ray's not sure he has words for how wrong this all is.

"Just making it look organized does not make it a system, Brad. I have one and you've fucked it up. Shit. The last time someone messed with my books, I couldn't find Hitchhiker's for days."

"My mom," he clarifies at a raised eyebrow from Brad. "And you know how you have all these rules and certain only right ways for everything from shitting to how to organize food in the fridge and at what angle to mow the lawn and-" he stops when he sees Brad's starting to look pissed off. Right. Speaking of Sun Tzu: "it is best to win without fighting."

He tries to explain while he pulls some books from the shelves and makes different piles. "Look, there's fiction and non-fiction. They have different categories and I put the history books together, military history by specific war and country and philosophy is a whole different section but…" This will take too long to explain. "You know what, just- Brad, if you love me, let me handle the bookshelves."

He looks up from the books to find Brad watching him intently.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, Ray. Okay." There's a hint of a smile on Brad's face and in his eyes.

Huh. Ray didn't expect it'd be this easy considering Brad's allergy to what he considers 'messy' (when it doesn't relate to kissing or sex), but he takes it gladly. He lets out a deep breath, mentally shaking off the irritations of today and then leans up to kiss Brad. Let nobody say Ray Person's not a graceful winner. "Hi," he says finally, his voice soft.

When Brad holds him close and starts kissing a path from Ray's mouth to his ear and slowly to his neck, Ray thinks this has all the possibilities of becoming the best not-really make-up sex for the not-actually a fight they've had yet. Until the kisses stop and Ray can feel Brad shaking against him, the tell-tale sign of Brad's quiet laughter. He squeezes Brad's side. "What?"

It takes a moment before Brad pulls back just enough to look at him. Still laughing but not trying to hide it any more. "You freaked out."

"I did not freak out, you big, delusional bastard."

"You did, Ray. Big time. The look on your face when you came in was priceless. I mean, we went to war together and I don’t remember ever seeing that look." He looks way too damn smug. "I've discovered your OCD secret, Ray Person."

"You're just happy because you think that makes you less of a freak, but you're wrong and I've got three words for you to prove it, Brad." He points at Brad's chest. "Raked. The. Carpet. And-" Brad shuts him up with a deep, slow kiss but Ray's okay with that; he believes he's made his point.

* * * * *

"It's like a hurricane came through here," Brad says when he comes back from the kitchen, dropping paper towels on Ray's stomach and letting himself fall back next to Ray on the floor.

Ray lifts his head a little from the rug to clean himself up and look around. The top bookshelf is crooked, the coffee table is almost pushed up against the entertainment center and their clothes are scattered around the living room, as are most of the books that only an hour before had been in neat piles.

He lets his head fall back to the floor and discards the paper towels. "Forget about the books, homes. I think I came so hard I've gone permanently cross-eyed."

Brad grins while he rolls on his side to drape his arm and leg over Ray. Brad is a big fat snuggler. One time, when this was still new to Ray he'd asked Brad if he suffered from unresolved childhood trauma, like having been rudely and prematurely separated from his teddy bear when he got sent to military school or something, but Brad had never answered. Because even though it'd been early on in their relationship, Brad had already known the best ways to distract him. And in the end he really doesn't give a fuck as long as he has his space when they're sleeping.

He rubs his eyes, opens then closes them again. "Seriously, Brad. I don't think I'll ever be able to read again and it's all your fault. You're gonna have to read my books to me now because I'm visually impaired."

"Josh Ray Person," Brad's voice is amused but low and so close to his ear Ray can feel Brad's breath. "Are you really complaining about great sex? And using it as an excuse to cover up for your whiskey tango inbred-induced illiteracy?"

"Dude, what kind of weak-ass argument, is that?" Really, Ray is a little disappointed. "Has all the blood not rushed back to the head on your shoulders yet? I wouldn't even have all these books if I couldn't read, would I?"

"Hmm." Brad rolls to his back and pulls Ray with him so that he ends up halfway on top of Brad. "Clearly all a front."

"Oh, the sweetly uttered words of romance and love!" he heaves a dramatic sigh against Brad's chest. "You know Brad, I may be a backwoods hick but at least I know, that despite your proclivity for post-sex cuddling, your pillow talk leaves a lot to be desired."

Brad slides his right hand from Ray's rug-burned back down to his ass and pulls him in closer. "If I didn't feel evidence to the contrary against me right now I'd think you'd suddenly turned into a fucking girl. So, what? You want sweet talk, my Ray? Do you need me to tell you that you are the sunshine of my life? And that's why I'll always be around?" Ray groans, then laughs when Brad actually starts singing, voice soft, tone still a little mocking. "You are the apple of my eye, forever you'll stay in my heart."

"Damn right, I _am_ the ray of sunshine in your life," Ray says afterwards, grinning. "That was good though," he pats Brad's chest. "I did not expect seventies Stevie Wonder from you." Brad singing or listening to anything that's not that fucking horrible cheesy eighties music he loves so much needs to be encouraged and praised.

Brad just hums and they lie there quietly for a while, warm and a little sticky where they're pressed against each other. Brad's skin is familiar under Ray's slow stroking hand; he knows where it's soft over hard muscles and bones and where he'll feel scars. He breathes in and past Brad's scent he smells the newness of their home again; a combination of paint, new furniture and curtains. He's listening to the still mostly unfamiliar sounds in- and outside the house when Brad slides his fingers in Ray's hair and pulls lightly.

"Hey. Still cross-eyed?" he asks.

"Maybe a little." He lifts his head to look at Brad and crosses his eyes.

Brad huffs out a laugh and lifts his hand from Ray's hair to wander his fingertips over Ray's eyebrows. "Looking just fine to me," he says quietly.

Ray pushes himself up on his hands and knees to straddle Brad. They just look at each other for a moment before he bends down to brush his lips against Brad's, teases with his tongue the way he knows will drive Brad crazy eventually, and just when Brad's fingers tighten in his hair, Ray's stomach rumbles loud enough for Brad to pull away.

"Jesus. Was that you?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," he sits up, pushing Ray up with him. "It's definitely dinner time, then."

"All right, what are we eating, missus?"

Brad bites down on his shoulder and gives him a light slap against his ass. Ray thinks maybe eating can wait a while longer but his stomach growls again.

"Steaks, salad. Hey," Brad pulls back and leans to the side to grab a book off the couch. "I've been meaning to ask you about this."

"Aww fuck, Brad," Ray says when he sees what he's holding. "You even got to the children's books?"

"Ray, the boxes were labeled CYA."

"That's Children's and Young Adult. They were supposed to go upstairs in the attic."

"Yeah, I figured that out. And don't have a panic attack again; I already put them back in the boxes when I saw what they were. But maybe we should keep some around for when Lisa and Robbie come over."

"Sure." Ray's got some cool books that he knows Brad's niece and nephew would love. "So what's with this?" Ray gets off Brad's lap to sit down beside him, taking the book from his hand. "Don't tell me that with all your fancy education you always keep talking about, you don't know The Little Prince?"

"Of course I do. My mom used to read this to me a lot when I was a kid. I just wanted to ask about the inscription."

Ray opens the book to look at it, even though he still remembers mostly what it says. It's clear, but not exactly neat handwriting, looking a little faded after all these years:

"My sweet Josh,

You're growing up so fast, but remember:

never become too much of a grown-up

and always see with your heart.

Happy birthday!

I love you,

J."

Brad lightly bumps his shoulder with his. "So who's J?"

"My aunt Julie."

"The one who lives in San Francisco?"

"The one and only." He grins at Brad. "We should go visit her when we've both got some time off."

Brad looks hesitant. "Come on, Brad. Road trip to SF! You know you want to."

"You think she'd be okay with me being there?"

"Totally. Remember I told you, homes: incense-burning, rainbowflag-waving, love is all, liberal hippie." Brad groans. "Don't worry, she's cool. Wouldn't be my favorite aunt if she wasn't. And I already warned her you're a Jewish Republican Marine with a shitty taste in music last time I saw her and she still said we should come visit her some time. Probably just loves the challenge. You know I learned my debating skills from her?"

"Jesus Christ," Brad shakes his head. "I already know I'm gonna regret saying yes to this. Now c'mon, I want to eat some time tonight."

Ray puts the book back on the couch when they get up.

"All right, last one in the shower is a pussy," he says while Brad's gathering their clothes and he rushes across the living room to the hallway. "And I mean a bigger one than you usually are!"

"Jesus, you're such a kid sometimes," Brad calls after him. "You really took your aunt's advice to heart, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Ray calls back. "I saw you, didn't I?" He turns back to stick his head around the hallway door to see Brad standing still in the middle of the living room, clothes in his hands, the corner of his mouth tugging slowly into a full blown smile. It's his favorite Brad smile, the one that still makes his stomach do a little flip-flop - face lit up with happiness, all soft and bright. Ray stares for a moment, then he turns around, sprints up the stairs and into the shower. He wins the race easily. By a minute at least.


End file.
